This has been a bad week. One patient in which we had done a pleasing hip replacement, died suddenly of a massive myocardial infarction, a month after his discharge from hospital, and when he had started walking with vigour. Another patient who had Renal failure after surgery elsewhere,, and who had been successfully reoperated by us 2 years ago, and who was working at his profession, died after a fatal attack of pneumonia. Another patient developed a sudden complication which fortunately we rectified with difficulty.
The rains did come but ever so briefly. The weather remained sultry and humid. I missed important meetings. But above all was this terrible tiredness, which was like a winter smog, encompassing, surrounding me throughout day and night making my movements sluggish and fatigued.
Sylvia Plath –the magnificent Talent
Facetiously, people blamed the weather. But this was deeper, affecting my desire to work and my enthusiasm was forced and artificial. I knew this was ennui.
Wikipedia had this to say.
The original French word Ennui, means general lack of interest, boredom or depression. It may also refer to oppressive boredom. It refers to a state of being rather than a passing mood as is generally the case with "boredom."
The solution was Home made Ilish Maacher Biryani!!!! washed down with gallons of cold water, lime and mango juice……Pluto made a beeline for the door and walking with him was cathartic, because he never lost his enthusiasm for strange new smells!!!
During this time, I ventured into poetry, the natural refuge for a Bengali—but I penned this one in English!!!!Again this ten minute sojourn was invigorating… though I would agree that the morbidity factor was overplayed…
ENNUI
We live our lives in drips and drabs,
Coffee cups and restless nights,
Doing what we did last year,
Facing the same old sights.
We wait for storms to rage and change,
Flower shells should bloom.
No lifting of our smallest finger,
No effort to shatter gloom.
Till one day we look and find,
Cobwebs in finger spaces,
The walk has changed to a crawl,
Dust lies in face crevices.
What stops us, I wonder still,
From shedding our outer skin,
And cleave the blue waters
Like a brazen shark fin.
Must we wait for the birds to come,
And the wind and mountain stream,
Summer skies to enroof us,
As we look at dreams.
Or should we change,and clang the Bell,
With vigour new and found,
Eyes bright and sparkling still,
Feet savouring the grassy ground.
Maybe still a galloping steed,
Will stomp upon the fields,
Warriors in shining glory shall,
Defy and will not yield.
Or will ennui win the day,
Arms lie static on the bed,
Air conditioned deaths for all,
Pictures waiting to fade.
Some day then you may find me,
A stretched out silent form,
Arms raised in rigor mortis,
Still welcoming violent storms.
Don’t waste time in grief or tears,
Write this epitaph somewhere friends,
He woke up late, but did his best,
He tried to change the trends.
It did not feel this long while writing it—but there it is—what ennui can do to you, if you let it get on top. It is always good to know the opposite of happiness…
